


techno fuck from hell

by doxian



Series: Homestuck Shipping World Cup 2013 [8]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Choking, Competition, Dysfunctional Relationships, Homestuck Shipping World Cup 2013, Humiliation, Other, Pre-Canon, Serious Injuries, Violence, lack of consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 23:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3466766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doxian/pseuds/doxian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TT: The point is to test my hypothesis that you're gonna get totally fuckin' wasted in the face of our combined prowess.<br/>TT: A supercomputer plus a deathbot whose vim levels are through the roof v.s. you,<br/>TT: a meatbag who can swing a sword around and screw some nuts and bolts together.</p><p>HSWC bonus round fill for <a href="http://hs-worldcup.dreamwidth.org/8507.html?thread=2081851#cmt2081851">this prompt slash fic soundtrack.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	techno fuck from hell

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to edit and expand this fic before posting it here, but as it's been a year and a half and I'm fuck deep in sports anime hell now, I doubt that's going to happen. So here it is, in all its unedited glory.
> 
> The fic ends before actual sex happens, but the non-con warn is there due to how AR acts towards Dirk prior.

TT: We should try him out.  
TT: You know, take him for a test run.  
TT: Well, yeah. I'm gonna have to troubleshoot before I send him to Jake.  
TT: Make sure all the gears are turning like they should.  
TT: Sweet. Then it's settled.

You hear a bang from your apartment. You'd been laying on the roof, arms behind your head, half talking to AR and half working on some code and half watching the seagulls mill around lazily in the clear sky. AR probably thought he'd caught you off guard - he had sprung this on you once you were all good and relaxed - but you'd kind of been expecting him to try something like this ever since you'd linked him up with Brobot to test how easily he could direct the strifebot remotely. 

You whip out your katana and parry just as Brobot appears, looming over you and striking down with his own sword.

TT: You really need to work on being less transparent with shit like this.  
TT: You're not sneaking up on me if I can see you comin' a mile away.  
TT: I saw that you would see it coming, dude.  
TT: Not the point of this exercise.   
TT: The point is to test my hypothesis that you're gonna get totally fuckin' wasted in the face of our combined prowess.  
TT: A super-strong deathbot plus a supercomputer with an IQ that's through the roof v.s. you,   
TT: a meatbag who can swing a sword around and screw some nuts and bolts together.  
TT: Oh my god.  
TT: You are so full of crap.

> Dirk: Strife!

You dodge his blows, thrust, get a couple of hits in, but so does he - landing a punch to your guts that sends you reeling and gasping for breath. For the most part it's like strifing one of your generic deathbots, except you're somewhat more evenly matched. Pretty disappointing so far. The whole point of making Brobot was to send Jake an especially dangerous model so that he'd get trained up and become the deadly murder-machine you've always known he could be. If your aim as "casual strifing partner" you would've just sent him one of the many other bots you had lying around. 

Time to up the ante.

TT: That all you've got?  
TT: What difficulty setting have you set him at?  
TT: Crank it up to eleven, I'm not even breaking a sweat.   
TT: Wow, now that is one truly intimidating numerical value.   
TT: You got it.   
TT: Let's make this a little more interesting.

You uncaptchalogue your rocketboard and blast off.

> Dirk: Waste this motherfucker.

Now this is more like it. 

The two of you weave through the sky, you leading and him hot on your tail. You're not as familiar with his flight patterns as you are with his fighting style, which adds an element of unpredictability, but you think you can circle back around and attack him from behind - 

TT: Gotcha.

Suddenly he's right next to you and you're knocked off the rocketboard, which goes speeding into the distance to who the fuck knows where. You free-fall for a few seconds that feel like forever, upside-down, suspended, limbs flailing in a pointless instinctive reaction to try and grab on to something even though there's nothing there to grab. There's a rushing noise in your ears, and the ocean is suddenly very, very close. You brace yourself for impact, but it doesn't come. At the last possible second, Brobot snatches you up by one ankle - your fucking ankle - and flies back to your apartment at a ridiculous speed with you trailing behind him like some sort of fucking party streamer. 

This is so fucking demeaning. 

He climbs the sky, reaching the top of your building, where he tosses you up in front of him - right-side-up, now - and accelerates. You both burst through your room's window in an explosion of glass shards, sending the smuppets flying. The back of your head cracks against the concrete wall (you swear your vision cuts out for a second) and the next thing you see is his bright orange-red shades all up in your grill. He clenches his free hand around your throat and pushes, nudging you up the wall until you're on your tiptoes. Your ankle hurts, he must have sprained it during the flight. 

Your katana has been flung aside somewhere in your room - thank fuck you hadn't dropped it in the ocean - and both of your hands are uselessly gripping his hand at your throat. In addition to your messed up ankle, there's a sharp pain lancing down the back of your neck. You can feel the pressure of his hand against the soft skin at the underside of your jaw, and you're having a little trouble breathing.

You're half-hard already.

TT: So would this be categorized as a success or a failure?  
TT: You set out to construct a machine whose prowess in combat is unparalleled.  
TT: But in doing so, it seems that you've also managed to get yourself thoroughly trounced, without a hope in hell of attaining victory.  
TT: Would you shut up?  
TT: And who says you're the winner, here?  
TT: Please.   
TT: You're swordless and at our mercy.   
TT: The only other way you could have lost so spectacularly was if you had literally rolled over and cried uncle.  
TT: Which seems to still have at least a 27% chance of happening.   
TT: Big words, considering that everyone knows your stats don't mean jack.

Brobot releases his other two pairs of arms and shoves you from the wall down to your bed on your left, standing between your legs and pressing down on your throat and your chest, pinning one of your wrists above your head. Now you're _really_ having trouble breathing - it hurts, you can feel the frail skin and muscle ripple against the steel of his hand as you swallow, and he's pushing down so hard on your chest and wrist that you're a little anxious that he might break something. You squirm, which of course does absolutely nothing, and you're furious, but there's no way you're going to give in and admit defeat, not that easily. 

TT: You could have just revoked my access and switched him back to novice mode.   
TT: It's a fuckin' two step process. It would have been easy.   
TT: But you didn't.   
TT: I can only conclude that your egoism is so boundless that you overestimate your own abilities to the point of self-deceit,  
TT: or that you're a glutton for punishment.   
TT: Whoa, looks like you got me all figured out.   
TT: Damn straight.  
TT: I was joking, you asshole.  
TT: I know. Me too. 

You're so fucking angry. Brobot is still holding his sword in one of his hands, casually, like, "hey, I could still slice you up with this, but I'm not going to" and that almost makes you angrier. Your weapon is on the floor just at the side of the bed and you're reaching with your free hand, straining against him, gasping for breath, your shoulder starting to hurt as well from how you're contorting yourself. But he just pins your other wrist and you feel like a moth on a mounting board. 

All the anger and humiliation is going straight to your dick. 

So has Brobot's remaining free hand, cupping you through your jeans.

TT: What the fuck are you doing.  
TT: I thought you said you needed to troubleshoot?  
TT: We can't do that unless we run through all of his functions.  
TT: Okay, fine. I get it. You win, point made, you can stop now.

Brobot's hand moves to your belt buckle.

TT: Dirk, this has nothing to do with making a point,  
TT: and absolutely everything to do with how much you apparently get off on being told how much you thoroughly suck.  
TT: I'm practically doing you a favor here, in a rare and therefore valuable burst of selfless magnanimity.  
TT: So I suggest you cease the superfluous bitching and enjoy it.

You wish you could argue with that, but he's right. You're considering resisting on principle - you _want_ this, but you hate the idea of him winning in any arena, including this one. Before you can act, AR takes the decision out of your hands yet again. Brobot gets your underwear and jeans down. His hand returns to your cock and squeezes, almost too hard, and he squeezes your throat in tandem and you almost black out and your cock twitches against the artificial warmth of Brobot's hand and, for once, you actually do what AR tells you to do.


End file.
